


Cadence

by sinestrated



Series: Reboot [2]
Category: Almost Human
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-07
Updated: 2014-01-07
Packaged: 2018-01-07 20:31:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1124067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinestrated/pseuds/sinestrated
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Androids can't develop PTSD. But then again, Dorian's always been the exception to the rule.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cadence

**Author's Note:**

> Several people requested a continuation of "Reboot", so here it is in all its mundane, overly-fluffy, stupid greatness. I am so sorry.
> 
> If you haven't read "Reboot", you will want to page through it first, otherwise this story will make no sense.

He’s halfway through their latest incident report when the call comes in.

“John,” says Maldonado, and even distorted through the comm line, her voice is tight. “It’s happened again.”

John drops his datapad with a clatter and books it for the stairs.

The precinct when he gets there is its usual bed of barely-contained chaos, officers, androids, techs, and administrative staff all bustling about their work like so many bees in a hive. There’s a break in the activity, though: a group of people gathered in the far corner of the room, peering down at something on the floor.

It’s a familiar scene. John’s heart tightens in his chest.

One of the onlookers—an intern, by the looks of it, but damned if John can remember his name—stiffens and hurries forward at his approach. “I’m so sorry, Detective,” he stammers, “I just wanted to give him Dr. Lom’s latest lab report and he was looking the other way, I guess he didn’t see me coming and—”

“Move,” John snaps, and the intern squawks as he’s shoved aside. The rest of the crowd parts, and John swallows.

Dorian lies sprawled out on the floor like a dead body, utterly motionless. His eyes are open, glassy and black, staring up at the ceiling. Dark liquid stains the front of his shirt, pieces of shattered white ceramic scattered near his hand, and John bites his lip in fury and frustration. Fuck, he was just sending Dorian up for fucking _coffee_ , nothing was supposed to fucking _happen_ —

Behind him, the crowd shuffles around again to admit approaching footsteps an instant before Valerie’s voice sounds out, quiet. “Want me to take him down to Rudy’s?”

John tamps down on the cold settling in his gut like a stone. Damnit, he should be used to this, he thinks—after all, he put up with three months of it, three months of blank eyes and a still body, his partner dead in everything but name. He remembers that morning almost four weeks ago, when he’d woken up in his apartment to the sight of Dorian flipping pancakes in his kitchen, smile broad and blue eyes bright like he hadn’t just been in a self-induced coma for a quarter of a year. Back then, the hope and elation had hit John like a wave, because Dorian was _back_ , he was okay, he was…

And he _is_ okay. Dorian is _here_ , he’s alive and breathing and walking around fetching John coffee, and damnit, John _should not be feeling like this_. He shouldn’t be feeling that emptiness anymore, the despair leaving a bitter taste in the back of his mouth.

But he is. And, as usual, it’s all Dorian’s fault.

Sighing, John straightens up and turns to Valerie. “Yeah,” he says, looking down at Dorian. “Let me just—”

“John.”

He looks up to see Maldonado watching him from the door of her office. Her expression is unreadable, but her voice brooks no argument. “We need to talk. Now.”

John huffs out a breath. He looks at Valerie. “Sure you can handle him alone?”

Valerie just smirks. “Who says I’m alone?” She turns and starts barking orders at the rest of the crowd. John shakes his head, but the smile doesn’t quite make it onto his face as he drags his feet toward the captain’s office.

Maldonado at least has the decency to wait until he’s seated across her desk before she says, “This needs to stop, John.”

John grimaces. “Look, I—”

“It’s been a month since Dorian woke up,” Maldonado says, “and this is the _tenth time_ he’s shut himself down because of a sudden loud noise or because someone snuck up on him. John, this can’t go on.”

“Well, what do you expect me to do?” John answers, frustration twisting up his insides into knots. “He was made to feel, to be human, so now he’s responding like a hu—”

“But that’s just it! He’s _not_ human; he’s an android!” Maldonado throws up her hands. “Damnit, I thought Rudy’s memory wipe was supposed to fix him. What went wrong?”

 _We did,_ John wants to say. _We did, when we let him be taken by that group, let him be tortured and tormented for a week until he had no choice but to commit suicide. We did, when we forgot just how human he can be._

Instead, he looks down at his fists clenched in his lap. “I don’t know, ma’am.”

They sit in silence for a moment. All around them, the precinct continues its usual bustle, people and androids going about their business like any other day. He and Dorian had been part of that landscape, once. Now…

At last, Maldonado sighs. When she speaks, her voice is quiet. “You know I can’t release you back to active duty, the way he’s acting. If he shuts down like that in the field…”

John breathes out through his nose. “I know.”

“Do you?” The captain presses her lips together. “I’ll give you one more week, John. One more week for you and Dorian to sort this out, and if not…” She sighs again. Her gaze bores into him like twin embers. “We’re going to have to talk about other options.”

 _MX partner_ , she doesn’t say. _Deactivation_ , she doesn’t say. But John hears it all the same.

It is all he can manage to nod and exit her office without throwing something at the wall.

Rudy’s lab is empty when John enters, which is just as well. John walks up to the table where Dorian lies stretched out on his back, eyes still open and unblinking. He sighs. “You’re a real pain in my ass, you know that?”

Dorian doesn’t answer. John looks down at his partner’s face, blank and empty as a doll’s, and swallows. Despite the anger, the sorrow and despair, he knows Maldonado is right: they can’t go on like this. Dorian’s shutdowns now rarely last longer than an hour, but in the field, that means certain death. John knows he can’t do his job when his partner is going to put himself out of commission the moment he hears a gunshot.

But he can’t just _leave_ Dorian. That…just…he _can’t_. They’re friends. They’re partners. They’re…

 _Click_. John blinks and looks up just in time to see his partner’s lips part a fraction, drawing in air on a soft breath. Taking a breath of his own, he leans closer and whispers, “Dorian?”

Black shifts to blue as neatly as a coin flip. Dorian blinks at the ceiling a couple of times before slowly turning his head. They lock gazes, and Dorian smiles. “John.”

Something loosens in John’s stomach, and he can’t help but smile back. “Hey, partner.”

Dorian sits up, looking around. “What am I doing down here? Did…” He trails off, and his face falls. “Oh. Again?”

John sighs. “Yeah.”

They don’t say anything for a moment. Dorian looks down at his hands. John eventually clears his throat. “So, uh…what do you remember?”

“Getting your coffee,” Dorian answers, soft. “I was listening to dispatch. There was a call about an armed robbery.” He breathes out. “I guess I got distracted.”

“Yeah, well.” John shrugs, forcing nonchalance into his voice. They’ll get there. They’ll get there. “Don’t we all? Now come on, get off your lazy ass. We got work to do.”

He turns away maybe a little too quickly and starts for the door. Dorian’s voice stops him. “John.”

When he turns around, his partner is watching him, expression determined, almost…resigned. “I’ve been thinking.”

 _Oh, no._ Panic and despair rise in John’s chest, because Dorian can’t be giving up now. They still have a week, plenty of time to work it out, John _can’t_ lose Dorian again. “Listen, Dorian, don’t—”

“I have something for you.”

His train of thought derails. John blinks, staring as Dorian slides off the table and approaches slowly, holding out his hand, palm up. John looks down, and…

It’s a set of numbers, nine digits coalescing in the middle of Dorian’s palm, bright blue against dark skin. 188520093.

And John, for a moment, is completely confused. What the hell? Is this some kind of joke?

Then, unbidden, a distant memory floats to him: the echoes of Rudy’s voice, so long ago, soft and brittle with grief. _Only way to revive him now is to find and input the same serial code he used to override his primary processors._

And all of a sudden, it gets very hard to breathe. John looks up at Dorian and swallows. “Dorian, are you sure?”

But his partner just smiles, eyes soft. “You remember what I said to you, about how you were the one who woke me up after my decommission? You gave me a second chance, John. And even now, every time I go down, you’re always there when I come back again. You are _always_ there.” He nods. In the middle of his palm, the code shines. “I’m sure, John.”

John takes a breath, staring down at the numbers. Nine nonsense digits, tiny as insects in the middle of Dorian’s palm, yet carrying so much weight he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to bear it. Four weeks of constant questioning, flat-out orders and threats of insubordination, and Dorian’s never given up the code—even without his memories, he’s guarded it like a cherished treasure. It’s the only protection he has, after all, against a world filled with people who have hurt him.

And now he’s giving it to John, who is just about the last person on this earth worthy of it. Can he really do it? Can he take hold of something so heavy, so precious to Dorian, and be trusted not to destroy it like he’s done with so many others?

Then he looks up at his partner, at Dorian whose smile says _I trust you_. And the answer is surprisingly easy.

John takes a deep breath and nods. “Okay.”

Dorian watches him for a moment longer. His smile warms. “Good.”

The numbers shimmer and disappear. Dorian opens and closes his hand a couple of times before lowering it and looking back up at John. His eyes sparkle, bright iridescent blue and filled with life, not a hint of black. “So. Wanna go talk to the captain?”

John nods. Warmth and determination rise in his chest, a hope he hasn’t felt since Dorian first opened his eyes four weeks ago. “Yeah,” he says, and grins. “Let’s go catch some bad guys.”

It’s time to go to work.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Regarding translations:** All my works, including this one, can be translated without first asking my express permission. I ask only that you credit me as the original author and provide a link back to the original work. For anything other than translations, please ask first. Thanks.


End file.
